


Somewhere in paradox space, I think we're in love

by apocahipster



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 22:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17692007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocahipster/pseuds/apocahipster
Summary: Dave remembers lives he's never lived.





	Somewhere in paradox space, I think we're in love

**Author's Note:**

> if there’s any errors i’ve proofed this like 5 times but html is a bitch :(   
> also the paragraph spacing isn’t ideal but this is the price we pay to have pretty pester chum text.

Your name is Dave Strider and you know exactly who you are.  
You are 13 years old, you’re a human… of course you are why wouldn’t you be? You’re currently in your room drawing what has to be the shittiest comic of all time. Which of course, by nature of its extreme shittiness means it pulls a mobius double reach around making it the downright dankest artistic creation to ever bless the face of the earth. Somewhere in heaven, Leonardo Da Vinci is shedding a single tear. Next to him the corpse of God lays, puss filled and rotting, because of course God is dead.  
_You must die before you can become a god._  
Your hand stops on your drawing pad, leaving a gap in the line art. Another one of those strange thoughts. Rose called them ‘intrusive thoughts’ but from her explanation, which you have a suspicion was actually a copy-paste direct from Wikipedia, intrusive thoughts are usually unwanted and promote you to do dangerous and impulsive things.  
Your strange thoughts aren’t like that. They’re generally harmless, unusual but nothing too upsetting. The only harm they do is when you’re dropping wicked beats with your brother and they mess up your flow. The look on his face when you fuck up the landing on a majorly important rhyme, an easy to complete pattern, a line art circle un-closed…  
_A flash of metal, a cut on your arm, and blood seeps down. Behind heavy dark shades you see a look of disappointment. Inside you feel shame. And fear._  
You cant tell anyone. You are alone. And no one is on your side.  
You shake off the vision. Intrusive thoughts in visual form. They feel weaker than memories, like deja vu, except you’re not in the situation, you’re in your room, failing to do a terrible drawing.  
You reach for the paint fill, but as previously established, the line art is incomplete and instead of the stupid ‘snata hat’ being painted, the whole screen turns red. Red like  
_Dead Daves are the enemy._  
You hastily shut down the art program, but of course there’s a pop up, ‘Do you want to save changes to Conksuck boot?’  
You slam the N key a million times because of fucking course you don’t want to. Preserving this piece of shit isn’t remotely important. Your eyes take a moment to adjust from pure red illuminating the screen to just white when a message pops up from your pester chum application. Honestly you’re in the mood to have a chat with a bro. Maybe it’ll help take your mind off whatever bullshit is twisting up in your think pan.  
Except to your dismay, it isn’t one of your friends. It’s a troll, and by god he seems to be slamming out words a mile a minute.

CG: DAVE WHY ARE YOU SUCH AN OBNOXIOUS PRICK  
CG: TELL YOURSELF IN THE FUTURE TO GET A FUCKING GRIP  
CG: AND LISTEN FOR ONCE TO PEOPLE WHO ARE OBVIOUSLY SMARTER AND BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY CONCEIVABLE WAY  
CG: ITS FOR YOUR OWN GOG DAMN GOOD

TG: dude  
TG: …what  


CG: FUCK ME I WENT WAY TOO FAR BACK  
CG: WHATEVER. YOURE NOT DOING ANYTHING IMPORTANT SO TAKE A MENTAL FUCKING NOTE  
CG: WHEN IN YOUR DISTANT FUTURE YOU FIND YOURSELF FOLLOWING THE ORDERS OF A TEAL TYPING LUNATIC STOP FOR A MOMENT AND THINK  
CG: IS THIS THE BEST COURSE OF ACTION I SHOULD NE TAKING RIGHT NOW. MAYBE NOT. MAYBE I SHOULD ASK A FRIEND  
CG: AND THEN CONTACT ME IMMEDIATELY 

TG: okay firstly we aren’t friends  
TG: if youre a fan of my comics im flattered but youre gonna have to get in line  
TG: im kind of a big deal  
TG: i dont know how you got a hold of my private chum handle but dont go spreading that shit around  
TG: the last thing i want is for my number to be leaked to the world and to wake up to thousands of pictures of dudes dicks all perked and ready to worship me as the star i am  
TG: dave gives back to his fans but he is a limited fucking resource  


CG: WHAT ARE YOU YAMMERING ABOUT?!  
CG: ARE YOU SOME SORT OF CELEBRITY YOU NEVER MENTIONED THIS BEFORE AND ALSO THE EARTH IS DESTROYED SO WHO GIVES A SHIT

_Yeah you know the earth is destroyed but you’re still a celebrity_

Your name is Dave Strider, you’re a famous comic writer, movie director, millionaire extraordinaire, and you’re sort of a big fucking deal. And by sort of, you mean you are a big deal, if not, the biggest fucking deal.  
You are on the run from the Condense, and the presidents of the United fucking States. You’re undesirable number one in the eyes of the law. And by law you mean the lawless husk of a planet your home has become.  
After the gory display of Donald Glover’s execution, you need to watch your neck because  
_Dead Daves are the enemy_  
Yes. Because of that weird thought which constantly comes into your head.  
On your phone you have hundreds of unanswered messages, almost all are spies pretending to be fans, attempting to find your location, or weasel out your next plans of royal sabotage. Life on the run is difficult and it’s lonely. Being an adult is hard and nobody understands.  
You’re somewhere in the Adirondack Mountains, a fairly remote area, visiting an old friend. Although you have been friends for several years, this is the first time you have met in person, and yet, it feels as though you’ve known her for many lifetimes. But that might just be the crazy from your hermit lifestyle talking.  
Her house is white marble, a mansion almost, powered by a waterfall which runs under it. Ingenious really. A luxurious apocalyptic bunker.  
The front door has a passcode, “413MEOW” for some reason. You have a feeling this woman is deranged, but in this world, only people who are at least a little bit insane can survive.  
Inside are large, unbelievably shitty, statues of wizards.  
“Hello Dave Strider,” a calculated voice coos from atop a flight of stairs.  
“Do you think the star of my next film should be one of these wizards. They’re so incredibly terrible, I just… I can’t. I haven’t felt an emotion in decades but the severe tackiness is reigniting the sleeping forge that once was the fire in my heart.”  
“Would it bring you to tears if I told you my love of these tacky wizards is totally unironic,” the woman says.  
“That’s just about the saddest thing that ever got said,” you say. “Mainly because the answer is of fucking course, Rose.”  
Rose... Lalonde. Rose Lalonde…  
As you walk closer, her features are more distinct. Black lips, headband in white hair and… purple eyes. “Why do you look so familiar?”  
“You’ve seen me in photos?” she muses.  
“No its not that… it’s… because… you are my…”

_Sister._

Of course Rose is your sister. Your twin in fact. Although you were raised by different people, you’ve known her your whole life. And now you both go to the same high school, of which you are currently attending. And zoning out in class you fucking suppose.  
Memories of a post-apocalyptic world wash away, because that was some shit nasty crazy dream and you’re brought back to the present day, Washington DC, on normal old earth. You’re 15 years old. In front of you is Terezi and in front of her is a projector. An image displayed is obscured by her head and all you can see are two points, somewhat like horns, coming from her hair. Across the room a trick of the light makes Karkat’s skin look washed out and grey.  
At lunchtime you are surrounded by your friends. John, Jade, Terezi, Karkat, Rose and her girlfriend Kanaya. You are somewhat jealous of the happiness they share. You’re fairly certain you’re 100% straight but if you even questioned it you feel like Bro would sniff that shit out and have a word or fist to say about it. Because in this world, life is a bitch, and if you give it any excuse to pick at you, it will. You’re not allowed to stand out, or be weird, or be weak. You’re Dave mother fuckin Strider, and you are always top of your game. Always.  
“Hey cool kid is this you?” Terezi says with a snicker, holding up her legal text book where she has drawn crude glasses over a picture of some douche bag.  
“That is quite terrible but do you want to see what real trolling looks like?” you say throwing open your psychology text book.  
Terezi rubs her hands with anticipation.  
You flip open a page you memorised and hold it up in front of Rose’s face, interrupting her mid-sentence in whatever she was talking about with Jade.  
“Hey Rose is this you?” you ask.  
She regards the picture of Sigmund Freud which you have courteously drawn her signature cropped hair and headband onto.  
“He doesn’t look nearly as possessed by the dark spirits from beyond the grave to be me,” she said grabbing a pen and blacking out his eyes. She also draws some squiddles around him. “There, now that a devilishly handsome young lass fortunate enough to share my guise.”  
You turn back to Terezi dejected. “I was sure that would’ve sent her into a hysterics.”  
“Fffffail,” Terezi says and then hackles. The two of you broke up not long ago, and its nice how smoothly you’ve fallen back into being just friends. Karkat seems more at ease with your platonic disposition too, and you respect that he hasn’t jumped straight to making a move on her yet. Mad respect bro. That or maybe Terezi made it clear she’s not interested in him anymore or something. Either way things are better now. And your friendship is trailing along much better.

_Friendship? Why would I ever be friends with you?!_

Wait friendship… what are you talking about? Karkat Vantas hates your guts, and it’s frustrating as all hell.  
Your name is Dayhve Stridr, and you are a troll, because of course why wouldn’t you be? You are currently in your hive messaging your friend Johnny. His blue text fills your screen talking about some film called, _In which Yurrii Orllov (troll Nicolas Cage), the eldest son of a family of Alteranian refugees, is visiting a Bronze Blood Beach restaurant, where he witnesses a Highblood mobster kill two would-be assassins holding Kalashnikov assault clubs. He is inspired to go into the arms trade, comparing the constant need for weapons to the similar troll need for food. After completing his first sale, Yurrii convinces his brother Vitaly (troll Jared Leto) to become his partner and they leave their jobs at the family restaurant behind. Yurrii's first big break comes in the Lime Blood War, when he sells guns to all sides of the conflict, despite witnessing war crimes and atrocities. As Yurrii becomes more successful in the war's aftermath, his business comes to the attention of Interpol and in particular idealistic agent Jackie Valent (troll Ethan Hawke). Vitaly becomes addicted to cocaine after an uncaring highblood drug lord uses sopor to pay for an arms deal. Yurrii checks Vitaly into sopor rehabilitation and continues business alone. He lures childhood crush Ayvarr Fontai (troll Bridget Moynahan) to a false photo shoot, where they fall in love and subsequently become matesprites. After the dissolution of the Red Blood Union, Yurrii flies to Alternia and illegally buys tanks and weapons through his uncle, a former Red general. Yurrii expands to Alternia’s moons and begins a business relationship with Andree Baptiste Sr. (troll Eamonn Walker), a ruthless dictator waging a never-ending civil war. During one flight into Alternia’s moon, Yurrii's cargo plane is intercepted by Valent and forced to land. Yurrii escapes arrest by landing in a remote area and distributing the aircraft's illegal cargo to the locals. Unable to charge Yurrii, Valent tells Ava he is an arms dealer, prompting her to confront him and demand he stop his illegal business. For a time, Yurrii agrees, but Andree Baptiste Sr. offers him even more money and he soon returns. Yurrii convinces Vitaly to come along on a sale in Sierra Blood territory, where a legislacerator force allied with Baptiste is visibly preparing to destroy a refugee camp. Sympathizing with the refugees, Vitaly pleads with Yurrii to abandon the deal, but Yurrii refuses, arguing that if they do the legislacerators will also kill them. Stricken with guilt, Vitaly steals a pair of grenades, destroying one of the weapon trucks and killing Baptiste Jr. Vitaly is shot and killed. Yurrii reluctantly accepts half of the original diamond payment for the remaining weapons. At home, Ava discovers Yurrii's cache from his arms-dealing activities. She leaves with their son while Yurrii's parents disown him after learning the circumstances surrounding the death of Vitaly. Yurrii attempts to bring back the body of Vitaly with a forged death certificate, but the U.S. Customs finds a bullet in Vitaly's corpse, so Yurrii is arrested. In an interrogation room, Valentine presents Yurrii with his charges and informs Yurrii that he will be sent to prison for many life sentences. In response, Yurrii correctly predicts that he will be released by one of Valentine's superiors, as a "necessary evil" who distributes weapons so major governments can deny involvement._

Honestly you didn’t get past reading the first line of the title, and you’re only reading a couple of words of the wall of conversation Johnny sends following it. Instead, as blue text fills your screen you reminisce on the injustices of the world in which you were born. Johnny has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. Even though he is a prestigious blue blood, the hemospectrum means nothing to him. But you’re the bright red mutant blood.  
Somehow lady luck fucked up you reckon, because although he has the biology to do anything he wanted, murder whoever he pleased, he doesn’t have a hostile bone in his body. And while you are physically weak you feel like you are destined for a life of fighting. You don’t want to be a warrior but you feel like that is just your lot in life. Like some kind of destiny.  
Johnny starts rambling about how he wishes troll Nick Cage had long hair in this movie, and recounts all the scenes it would have a prime opportunity to billow in the wind when another message pops up on your screen.  


CG: STRIDR I TOLD YOU TO STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME  
CG: KEEP YOUR MUTANT RED SHIT TO YOURSELF YOU GROSS FREAK

TG: coming on a little strong don’t you think

CG: DONT YOU FUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING DARE  
CG: I CANT STAND THE SIGHT OF YOUR FUCKED UP BIOLOGY LET ALONE HARBORING ANY FEELINGS BUT UPRIGHT PLATONIC REVULSION  
CG: SORRY I HAD TO PAUSE TO PROJECTILE VOMIT ALL OVER MY MONITOR  
CG: WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TYPE WITH THAT VILE SHIT YOU CALL BLOOD

TG: red is dope

CG: NO IT IS REPUGNANT  
CG: ILL PAINT THE SCHOOL HALLS RED THE NEXT TIME YOU TRY TO TALK TO ME IN PERSON  
CG: SO BEFORE YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT IT  
CG: DO US BOTH A FAVOUR AND BASH YOUR OWN HEAD IN FOR ME

TG: fine ill leave you alone  
TG: i wont get my freak ass low blood cooties on your homework or whatever  
TG: now fuck off i have a great convo with my man egbert to get back to

Why does he have to be such a prick? You know he’s the prime example of what is produced at a fruity rumpus asshole factory, but you can’t shake this feeling that you’re meant to be his friend. That you should stick close to him.  
You switch your Trollian window over to Terezi, because like hell you’re going to catch up on whatever Johnny is yammering on about now.  


TG: dude karkat is downright insane

GC: D1D 1T R34LLY T4K3 YOU TH1S LONG TO COM3 TO TH4T CONCLUS1ON?

TG: nah not really  
TG: his off the bat vibe is batshit off the walls

GC: H3H3H3  
GC: 1T M1GHT B3 OF 1NT3R3ST TO YOU TH4T 1 TH1NK 1 KNOW WHY H3 H4T3S YOU SO MUCH

TG: oh rea

Your laptop is slammed shut before you can type any more. On top of the laptop sits your lusus’s puppet. It’s basically your hive’s equivalent of duelists’ gauntlet, except here there is no option but to accept the challenge. Simply by existing you’ve accepted a fight for your life challenge.  
Your sword is already equipped. It’s never not at the ready. And you begin to creep throughout your hive. Quietly, slowly, each step calculated.  
Except you count wrong and there’s a flash of pain in your arm and soon blood is dripping down to your fingers. Bright red like the screen of a monitor. Like dead Daves. Like the eyes looking back at you. No not your own but…

_his._

Karkat is wearing red. You can’t help but think that the colour suits him. He’s almost always wearing grey, for some reason. In high school everyone’s trying too damn hard to stand out and be the main characters of whatever story they think they’re in. Karkat certainly shouts like he’s trying to be heard above the crowd, but you have a feeling he’s just tired from trying to keep all of his friends alive.  
Wait… what a weird thought to have.  
You stare down at your math paper. You pull the sleeve of your hoodie further down your arm, hiding some scars your bro had left there a few months ago.  
Across the room Karkat, a human like you, because again why wouldn’t he be, is scowling at the paper before him. Clearly in some heated internal debate over what the right answer is.  
And for some reason you can’t shake this feeling… this feeling… no you lost it again.  
Karkat always seems at war with himself. You don’t think he’s ever known peace.  
_Grey skin, red blood._  
In one timeline we are…  
Karkat is just a friend. A very angry friend, whose vexation burns so bright it sometimes hits a degree which could be described as adorable… whatever that means. But again, you can’t deny this haunting feeling that you’re meant to be more than friends.  
Maybe even…  
… in another timeline the two of you are…  


 

_  
_

__

__

   lo…

 

         …ve…

 

 

             …r

 

 

 

 

                       …s

 

You’re a troll. Your name is Dayhve Stridr and you go to highschool, like all trolls do and have always done. You have several friends here, although you always make sure not to get too close. Murders are abundant, as is expected when a mixture of hemospectrums and hormones are put in a constrictive regiment and close quarters. Honestly troll highschool makes no sense. How does anyone ever survive this place?  
Every day is a struggle, especially when you have mutant red blood. You are upfront about it. Your lusus taught you how to fight, and you don’t see much point in living if you’re only going to live in fear.  
Despite that, you’re almost always terrified. But something has recently brought you hope. You’ve not sure, but you have been lead to believe your classmate, Karkat Vantas, also has mutant blood. Not only that, but it might also be bright red like yours. That’s if Terezi’s weird fetish over the colour has been accurately guiding her nose. Unfortunately, he still hates your guts, but you hope that that's all from self-preservation based distancing.  
It’s late after school when you confront him. No one around to hear this life-threatening conversation, you hope. Sometimes the highbloods stalk the hallways looking for a fight but last you checked they had all gone by now.  
“Karkat,” you say, making him jump. You feel almost guilty, but like your lusus taught you, you berate yourself for having this weak emotion and try to suppress it. This is a mission of survival, not comradery, or any other feeling which could pertain to the human emotion called friendship.  
“What the blithering fuck do you want!” he shouts, half in his fear, half in his typical rage.  
“Woah, hey no need to get snappy, I’m approaching as an interspecies diplomat.”  
“Interspecies? Do you ever make any shitting sense?” Karkat snarls.  
Yeah you gotta agree, you’re not quite sure why you said that either.  
“Sense? What is this non-incomprehensible conversational mannerism of which you speak?” you say. You think it’s funny, but Karkat doesn’t. He takes you by the scruff of the shirt and shoves you up against a locker. “Chill Vantas. You know I could snap you if I wanted to,” your natural and instinctual anger kicks in.  
“Save it,” he says. Most trolls were unaware that Karkat’s voice was even capable of lowering, but it could, and under his breath he muttered, “Don’t make me go painting these halls red. It won’t end well for you.”  
“It wont end well for either of us when the highbloods only see one bright red colour,” you say. Fear crosses his face and it’s the most reassuring thing you’ve seen in a long time. You were right.  
He pushes off you.  
“Don’t tell anyone,” he says.  
“That’s what I’m trying to get at,” you say, still hushed. “We should be friends. Us against the world”  
“NO!” he yells, shoving you once more. “It’s bad enough you wear that colour on your shitty audio-donut symbolled shirt, but don’t bring it anywhere near me. The last thing I want is for anyone to associate me with your mutant blood!” He yells, emphasising the difference he wishes the two of you had, trying to keep up the illusion.  
“Karkat, I know how exhausting it is to be alone and afraid all the time. We don’t need to be alone. We don’t need to be against each other. We can be friends. Hell in another universe we’re lovers.”

For a split-second confusion crosses his face.

“In this universe we are lovers what are you talking about Dave?” Karkat says. You blink and suddenly you’re both sitting at a table. Karkat looks back down at the book he’s reading. No doubt some hefty tome about romance.  
Your name is Dave Strider and you know exactly who you are. You’re 15 years old, you’re on a meteor, in the furthest ring, and you have been travelling to another universe for about two years now. And although you are still struggling to come to terms with all the implications of the fact, there is no doubting that you are immensely, irrevocably, and undeniably in love with Karkat Vantas.  
“Yeah, just testing you,” you say.  
In the corner of the room Kanaya and Rose are giggling, cuddling, and a making the constant, distinct, wet smacking noise of lips kissing.  
“Testing me on… whether we’re dating?” Karkat asks, perplexed. “Well then I guess I’m the goddamn troll-Albert Einstein of this universe, because I’m a goddam genius. Got this quiz in the fucking bag. It’s so in the bag that there is no room for anything but this quiz in this bag, and it’s being delivered to all the crying wrigglers this pedigree’s eve. What other questions you got, how about what is the name of the guy I’m dating. Oh shit let me mull this on over my think-pan – psyche! It’s Dave! That answer was also in the aforementioned bag.”  
“Dude, I love you but shut the hell up,” you say, without a hint of bitterness. “I just… my mind’s been wandering, think I should steal Terezi’s cane, she doesn’t need it, but my brains been travelling blind. I keep…

“I keep remembering things... lives that never were,” you say. “It happened just now.”  
Rose Lalonde sits across from you, a fully-grown woman and not a teenager making out with a vampire. The woman who just a moment ago, you swore was your sister but now you’re remembering who you are. You’re Dave Strider, the famous comic writer, movie director, and as previously established, you’ve never had a sister. Besides if she was, that would fully compromise her current role as your therapist.  
“What sort of things are you remembering?”  
“Well… were you by any chance… adopted?”  
Rose quivers only a little. She shares your trait of stoicism.  
“Yes,” she said. “But I think we’re here to talk about you.”  
“I just… I think I’m stressed out. From being hunted by the law.”  
On the table your phone buzzes.  
“Look there goes my phone again. Blaring up with messages from yet another spy. Everyone wants a piece of Strider. And by a piece I mean that literally, there's bounties on each of my limbs.”  
“A spy?” she inquires. “Are they able to discern your location if you answer their messages?”  
“I don’t think so. I’ve taken precautions to get the best tech I can. Don’t think I would’ve lasted this long if I wasn’t taught how to take care of myself.”  
“Taught how?”  
_A clash of metal. A sword rips at your skin. Blood sprays from an artery in your wrist._  
Having to sneak around… Bro’s training, it was some vicious shit…  
Dead Daves are the enemy.  
Your grey skin ripped open by your lusus.  
No not your lusus your older brother.  
No not your older brother, by…

“The hard way,” you say, pulling yourself back into reality. The reality where shitty wizards and a snarky therapist are watching you closely. Man, you kind of hate the fact you need to specify which reality you’re in. “I’m going insane.”  
“Do you have a consistent support base?” Rose asks.  
“You mean friends and shit and shoulders to cry on? I… not anymore. I used to have connections, but they’ve all gone into hiding or been killed. Hell, even my fans used to give me some kind of support but now everyone’s too scared to reach out to me.”  
“Are you sure? Maybe one of your fans also knows how to be safe and take care of themselves. If you’re certain it won’t put our lives in jeopardy, can I look at some of these messages you’re so convinced are all from spies wanting to kill you.”  
“Sure,” you grab the phone, unlocking it and passing it to her. “Just open literally anything from anyone claiming to be my biggest fan, and plucking their lips to kiss my ass as hard and deep as possible.”  
She looks through them for a moment, giggling occasionally before she says. “What about this one? This doesn’t seem to be an attempt to make out with your ass. It says, in all caps, CG: DAVE YOU COULDVE WARNED ME YOU WERE AN IMPENETRABLE FORCE FIELD OF FUCK YOU TO REACH.”  
“Okay I gotta see this,” you take the phone back and read over the messages. His conversations are sporadic but it catches you eye…  


CG: MAYBE YOU WANT PROOF I ACTUALLY KNOW YOU? OKAY. YOU HAVE SEVERAL MOLES THE SHAPE OF ORIONS BELT ON YOUR BACK. I DON’T REALLY KNOW WHO ORION IS OR WHAT HIS FUCKING BELT LOOKS LIKE THOUGH?

Okay… a little creepy but true.  


CG: YOURE ACTUALLY A REALLY GOOD ARTIST BUT YOU FIND SHITTY DRAWINGS MORE FUN TO MAKE BECAUSE ITS MORE CAREFREE AND YOU THINK THE WAY A SIMPLE ART STYLE CAN CONVEY THE SAME MESSAGE AS A MASTERPIECE IS A REALLY COOL TESTAMENT TO HOW SOCIETY HAS DEVELOPED AND ALSO A BIG FUCK YOU TO MICHAEL ANGELO.

Instinctively you type a message. A question burning in your mind. If you’re wrong, you’ll just block and delete his douche.  


TG: is your name karkat?”

CG: OH WOW YOU ACTUALLY ANSWERED  
CG: AND YES HOW DID YOU KNOW?

TG: im just that cool I guess. also another thing  
TG: are we  
TG: like  
TG: sort of  
TG: a thing

CG: AS IN ‘A THING’ A THING?  


TG: as in the tabloids would pay millions to know exactly what kind of thing we are

CG: NOT WITH THIS VERSION OF YOU SPECIFICALLY NO. WE HAVENT EVEN TALKED SO  
CG: I DONT THINK WE SHOULD JUMP INTO A RED ROMANCE QUITE THIS QUICKLY  
CG: OR ANY ROMANCE FOR THAT MATTER

TG: yeah no shit

CG: I WOULD LIKE TO BE YOUR FRIEND AT LEAST

TG: okay thats what all fans think  
TG: did no one tell you to never to meet your heroes  
TG: i probably suck  


CG: YEAH PROBABLY BUT HONESTLY I THINK I COULD USE ANY FRIEND RIGHT NOW  
CG: ITS KIND OF WHY I REACHED OUT TO YOU AGAINST MY BETTER JUDGEMENT THAT YOU WOULD IGNORE ME  
CG: AND IN DEFENSE OF MY JUDGEMENT YOU DID IGNORE ME FOR LIKE 3 MONTHS BUT THAT’S FAIR IM SURE YOURE A BUSY GUY WITH A LOT OF FRIENDS

You look across the table to where Rose Lalonde, the first face to face human interaction you’ve have in several years, watches you closely.  
“I think I found a real fan.”

“You need to keep up the façade, Dayhve, or they’ll kill you!” your lusus scolds you as red blood spurts from your veins. “You can train, be stronger than them even, but the moment they cut you open, they’re going to believe, _they’re going to know_ , that they’re better than you.”  
You clutch at the gash in your stomach, trying to keep the blood in.  
He beats you, insults you, you fight, you lose. Each day repeats. Life on planet Alternia is tough.

He beats you, insults you, you fight, you lose. Each day repeats. Life on planet Earth is tough.

“He’s never going to hurt you again,” Jade says, she reaches out and holds you. At your feet Bec, a totally normal Samoyed dog (why wouldn’t he be?) runs in a joyous circle.  
You’re on an island in the middle of the pacific. Jade’s grandpa found out about you, and your life at home, the abuse you endured daily, and this is where you live now you suppose. You’re used to the scorching heat of Texas, but the thick wet tropical heat of wherever the fuck this is, is something new.  
“Come on let me show you the house,” Jade says.  
She takes you by the hand, and it’s the first time you’ve held hands with a girl, and you don’t really see what the big deal is. Then again, as she tugs you along you kind of _feel_ what the big deal is. When she jumps with excitement you flinch at the sudden movements. The eyes of blue women watch you and you almost slice one of the pictures in half when it falls off the wall. Jade is a little confused and frightened by your violent reactions, but she takes you by the hand and says, “Come on let me show you the greenhouse.”  
She introduces you to each of her flowers and fruits and whatever the fuck else. Honestly, you’re kind of just anxious that this tower won’t have good wifi and the power supply to allow you to continue to make your sweet jams. Jade is an irregularly available pester chum and you were never certain if it was due to her internet connection or her frequent napping.  
You couldn’t live without internet.  
But then it hits you, that’s literally the situation you’re in. Because Bro kept on almost killing you. Life on this deserted island, or death in the life of ninja training.  
Man, he fucked you up pretty badly.  
It’s a good thing you got out when you did.  
You eat dinner with Jade and her Grandpa, and the conversation is lighthearted and delightful. Although you don’t contribute at all you are more than aware of how damn good this feels. Peace. Comfort. Cared for. A family dinner.  
It’s a good thing your friend Karkat picked up on the cues of abuse in your conversations with him and he called social services. You wouldn’t have even known that life could be this peaceful. That families could bring joy. It’s a good thing he had your back.  
_Dave, in all universes… ___  
You wake up, sweating, crying, the PTSD clawing at your brain.  
“You never have to see your brother again,” Grandpa Harley says rubbing your back.

____

“Why wouldn’t I want to see my bro? My bro is fuckin’ awesome?”

You’re 11, and John just insulted your brother in one of your casual conversations. Your jaw drops. Your bro is so cool how could anyone think anything otherwise?  
You’re 12 and your bro hit you with the blunt of his sword and you’re nursing a concussion. You wont make the same mistake twice.  
You’re 13 and you just came home from school. Tired. Hungry. There’s nothing to eat in your house besides Doritos. You head to your room. You just want to sleep, but there is Cal on your bed. A sign as clear as a duelist’s glove. You _must_ fight. Your body weeps of exhaustion. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you get to your feet and grip your sword. You’re going to be bloodied and bruised and heavily berated before you’re allowed to get a wink of sleep tonight.  
You’re 14 and John is complaining about his dad baking too many sweets. Jade is complaining about her dog barking at her for playing near a dangerous river. Rose is complaining about her mother ironically vacuuming a house.  
You complain to no one about your brother “ironically” slipping a hyper realistic video he had doctored of you, being torn apart by a serial killer from some movie you never want to see, into your computer files. It’s just a joke. It’s irony. So fucking funny bro. Good one.  
You go to sleep and have nightmares where your flesh is being torn apart. But then you see a hero. Flying from the sky, diving in with a sharp weapon in his hands, he slices apart your assailants. He lifts you into his arms.  
“I’m a knight and I protect my friends at all costs,” he says, kissing your cheek once  
“Karkat,” you say.  
“Yes Dave,” he answers back.  
“Save me.” Energy seeps from you as does blood and you feel yourself slipping from this reality.  
“Always,” he says, placing you down and turning to the hordes of monsters approaching. His cape swishes between his god tier wings and he lunges into battle, fending off the demons and keeping you safe.

_Dave, in all universes, we’re…  
…on… _

Your name is Dave Strider and you are playing sburb. You unlocked a new fraymotif, and you’re still getting the hang of it but you have to admit it’s kind of fun. You flow with time like your beats flow together. Rose Lalonde is your sister and Karkat is an annoying troll who pesters you but it’s kind of fun to read his messages.  
Terezi is your friend and Karkat’s jealousy of the two of you is hilarious. But there’s a sting. Because he’s jealous for the wrong reason. For the wrong person. You want him to want you. To feel red. But he’s black. And you’re black and blue.  
You’re a troll and your red blood is painting the halls of your high school as one of the jugglo kids, Gamzee, beats the shit out of you. Gamzee’s moirail frantically tries to get him to calm down, but all the shoosh paps in the world won’t lull the disgust he has towards your mutant blood. You wonder if they’re going to break up after this incident. Karkat’s too nice for him.  
He kicks your legs from under you and you fall. Your vision is going blurry, but you need to stand and keep fighting.  
Or bro will kill you. Or Gamzee will kill you.  
Karkat leaps between you and Gamzee. For a moment you swear he has wings. He raises his fist and throws. The fight is unequal. Karkat is beaten down, and falls beside you, red blood trickling from his lips. In your delirium you swear for a moment he is human. For a moment you think you are too. For a moment you are both gods. For another you are both bleeding crimson on the school floor. The crowd of students are ushered away. Murders often happen in Alernian high schools. Johnny sees you, dying. He pulls his hammer from his school bag, and nods at you once.  
Somewhere in paradox space, Johnny beats Gamzee to death with a hammer, duty bound revenge for a friend.  
But you’re here. Now. You’re Dayhve Stridr and you’re bleeding to death besides Karkat. Your identical blood runs together. Your hands reach out and hold one another’s.  
“Somewhere in Paradox Space, we’re in love, and we’re happy,” you say.

You’re dying. Bro missed a swing of his sword and you’re bleeding from you’re neck. Bro is trying to patch the wound up. He won’t call the ambulance because then he would end up going to prison. You’re dying. But he will live on. He will never face consequences for any of this. And you hate that.

Your brother is dead. Slain by Jack Noir. And you hate that. His shitty sword is embedded into the floor. Terezi mocks you for being unable to kick it in half.

“In every timeline,” you say to your therapist, Rose. “My brother hurts me.”  
“Except this one,” she clarifies. “Because you weren’t raised by him.”  
“Yes.”  
“So stick to this one.”  
“I can’t. It’s happening more and more. I can’t make it stop.”  
“Dave?” she says with sisterly concern.  
“And I don’t know where I want to be. Every life hurts so much.”

“I love you,” Karkat says, kneeling down beside you and lifting you into his arms. His god tier radiance shines over you. You’re weak but not wounded. He kisses you, and you kiss back.  
“Karkat, keep me here. I want to stay here.”  
“What are you talking about?”

You’re both on a meteor somewhere in space. Karkat’s a little worse for wear but nothing serious. Nothing time won’t heal. You are the Knight of Time, a god, and he is your lover.  
“I can’t believe we used to hate each other so much,” you say. Love radiates from you.  
“Thinking back to how I used to be… fuck it’s so embarrassing.”  
“Heh, imagine telling 13 year old Dave about this,” you say rocking Karkat in your arms. “So, Dave, firstly, you’re gonna fall in love with a dude.  
A dude? Is it Ben Stiller?  
No, its not. God could you imagine mackin’ on his weird sort of gaunt face.  
Please no. Well who is this dude, older, sexier Dave?  
Well, he’s kind of a big deal.  
How big are we talking?  
Well you know NATO?  
The multi-nation treaty? Yeah that’s a pretty big deal.  
Well this guy makes that deal look like an ant shaking hands with a crumb. That is to say not a very big fucking deal at all.  
Well this guy sounds like he’s kind of a big fucking deal then. So, tell me, how big _is_ this guy’s deal.  
You know the universe Dave?  
Heard of it.  
Yeah well he made it.  
Shit dude. That’s a pretty big deal. In fact that might just be the biggest size a deal ever did be. But Dave what else? I know that was a huge deal but come on this is me we’re talking about.  
Well, get this young Dave, this guy, he shouts 24/7  
Sign me the fuck up Dave  
And he’s a total douche to your friends for like many years. But don’t worry. Cause when you get close… there’s nothing he won’t do for you. In this world and in the next…”

_Dave, in all universes, we’re on the same side._

 

In your dreams horror terrors cry for your help. You cry back.  
I’m going to die.  
_No, you are a God, they say._  
Where will I wake up this time?  
_Where do you want to wake up?_  
Alive, happy, with Karkat, and far from my brother.  
_Why far when we can bring you closer to him than you’ve ever been._

You’re sitting on top of a skyscraper with Dirk Strider next to you. Somewhere, unbeatable bosses are hunting you down. You can’t look at him. Not into his eyes, orange and strikingly familiar. If you stare too hard you see Doritos. Ironic, hilarious. What a funny joke, as your brother flips the plastic fold out table, angry that you asked for something to eat that isn’t processed garbage.

Karkat is fighting you. He is fighting over you. He is fighting for you.  
I am a knight, I fight for the ones I love, no matter what. You say it. Karkat says it.  
“You are a knight,” Karkat says. “Fight for the ones you love.”  
Of course you will, it’s in your nature.  
“I love you,” Karkat says.  
I love you too.  
“So fight, for me, for you. Fight.”

Your name is Dave Strider and you’re 13 years old. You paint the screen red.  
Red like a flushed romance, flushed cheeks, lips red, kissed raw. Red like the blood of your lover’s god tier symbol. Red like the clockwork of your own god tier symbol.

You’re bleeding from your neck as your brother panics. You’re bleeding from everywhere as Gamzee walks away. You’re being hunted by Jack Noir. You’re being hunted by the spies of the Condense. 

You are dying. In all universes, all at once.

You lunge over your brother’s corpse and fail to break the sword.  
Your brother slices through your sword, cutting at your skin.  
Dirk stares at you, he nods. You leap. You swing... And you cut right through.

In a moment of clarity, you die. In all universes, all at once.  
That is when you reach God Tier.

Dying or living. No matter where you are right now. With him beside you, or far away. You reach out and feel his hand in yours. On. Your. Side. Always.

Your name is Dave Strider. It is a seasonably warm April day and few days from now you’re going to play a game called Sburb.  
More presently you’ve just shut down an art program which was painted red and you’re being messaged by a troll. His conversation begins a bit like this.  


CG: DAVE WHY ARE YOU SUCH AN OBNOXIOUS PRICK  
CG: TELL YOURSELF IN THE FUTURE TO GET A FUCKING GRIP

Despite the harshness of his words, seeing his grey text fill your screen shakes off the thoughts of loneliness you were just having. Instead you have a new thought, something you don’t quite understand.  
You think this guy is on your side. And not only that, you have a feeling that, somehow, in this universe, the two of you are destined to become lovers.

**Author's Note:**

> Haha yeah i shoulda warned you this made no sense  
> \- hmu at apocahipster.tumblr.com


End file.
